“Aunt Nastya, honestly, it’s impossible there!” Vitalina was sitting in the kitchen, both hands wrapped around a mug, looking so pitiful that it was almost unbearable. “They turned off the hot water for a whole week, can you imagine? There’s nowhere to wash!”
“Yes, and our neighbors have completely lost it,” Svetlana, her younger sister, chimed in. “They blast music until three in the morning. It’s impossible to study. Exams are coming up, so what are we supposed to do?”
Nastya stopped in the kitchen doorway, still wearing her down jacket, heavy grocery bags in her hands. It had been a rotten day — a major delivery had fallen through, the director had turned the whole office upside down, and now these two were sitting in her apartment as if they owned the place. In bathrobes. Her bathrobes, no less.
“Hi, girls,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Are you… staying long?”
Oleg got up from the table and smiled guiltily.
“Nastyukh, they just dropped by for an hour, came to complain. I told them to hang in there — summer’s practically around the corner.”
“Four months is not practically around the corner, Uncle Oleg,” Vitalina sighed so dramatically that Nastya involuntarily grimaced. “We’re really freezing there. The radiators are barely warm.”
Yulka was sitting at the table with a textbook, pretending to study, but Nastya could see that her daughter heard everything and understood everything. Eleven years old, and she had already learned to put on such a neutral face.
“All right, girls, take off your coats. I’ll go change,” Nastya said, walking into the bedroom and trying not to slam the door.
A minute later, Oleg came in and closed the door behind him.
“Listen, they really do have it bad there. Maybe we could let them stay for a week? They’re quiet, they won’t take up much space.”
Nastya pulled off her boots and looked at her husband.
“Oleg, there are three of us living here. Three. Yulia needs her room. She studies there and rests there. Where are we supposed to put them?”
“Oh, come on. Yulka can sleep with us for a couple of days. It’s not a big deal. The girls can stay in her room.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Exactly that. No, Oleg. She’s eleven. She needs her own space. Let them rent an apartment together. Split between the two of them, it won’t be that expensive.”
Oleg’s face darkened.
“So what you’re saying is that you’re sorry to help my sisters? Your own relatives?”
“Cousins,” Nastya corrected automatically, and immediately regretted it. “Oleg, I’m not saying they don’t need help. But we can’t solve the housing problems of all your sisters! I will not register your relatives in my apartment, and that’s final.”
“My relatives,” he repeated slowly. “I see.”
He left without slamming the door, but Nastya felt the tension hanging in the air. She changed, washed her face with cold water — she had to pull herself together somehow. In the mirror, a tired thirty-three-year-old woman looked back at her, her hair stiff from the frost and dark circles under her eyes.
When she returned to the kitchen, Vitalina and Svetlana were already getting ready to leave. They said goodbye stiffly. Oleg walked them to the door, whispering about something with them in the hallway. Nastya sat down across from Yulia.
“How are you, sunshine?”
“Fine,” her daughter said without looking up from her notebook. “Mom, is it really that bad in dorms?”
“It depends. But the girls are adults. They’ll figure it out.”
Yulia nodded, but something in her expression told Nastya that her daughter thought she was being cruel. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
The next morning, as Nastya was getting ready for work, the phone rang. Inna Pavlovna. Her mother-in-law never called for no reason — only on business, and always with complaints.
“Nastya, good morning,” her voice was icy. “Oleg told me everything.”
“Good morning, Inna Pavlovna.”
“Did you really refuse to help the girls? You have a big apartment, three rooms, and they’re suffering in a dormitory.”
Nastya closed her eyes and counted to five.
“Inna Pavlovna, we’re cramped ourselves. Yulia needs her room. She studies there.”
“Studies!” her mother-in-law snorted. “In my day, children studied at the kitchen table, and nothing happened — they grew up perfectly normal. But you’ve spoiled that girl. Now she needs a separate room.”
“Inna Pavlovna…”
“You know, your father is a rich man. He bought you that apartment, and now you’re turning your nose up at everyone. You don’t want to help relatives.”
“That’s not true…”
“Then what is it? Vitalina and Svetlana are good girls, quiet girls, studying on scholarships. They need help, and you’re ready to leave them out in the street because of your own comfort.”
Nastya hung up. Her hands were shaking. She sat down on the hallway sofa and stared at the floor. Oleg came out of the bathroom and saw her face.
“My mother called?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Listen, maybe we really should let them stay? Not for long.”
“Oleg, we already discussed this.”
“No, we didn’t discuss it. You refused right away without even thinking.”
“I did think. The answer is no.”
He went into the kitchen and slammed the refrigerator door so hard the dishes rattled. Nastya stood up, got dressed, and left the apartment. In the elevator, she took out her phone and looked at the screen — three missed calls from Inna Pavlovna. She didn’t call back.
At the office, Lena, her colleague and only friend, immediately noticed her mood.
“What happened?”
“Relatives showed up.”
“What relatives?”
Nastya told her briefly. Lena shook her head and frowned.
“Listen, I don’t like this. City registration is a big deal. Maybe that’s what they’re after?”
“Oh, come on, what registration? They just complained that it was cold in the dorm.”
“Sure,” Lena said skeptically. “We’ll see.”
On Friday evening, Nastya came home and immediately sensed something was wrong. There were two large bags in the hallway. Someone else’s jackets were hanging on the rack. Voices were coming from Yulia’s room — Vitalina and Svetlana.
Oleg met her in the kitchen doorway.
“Nastyukh, please don’t be angry. A pipe burst in their dorm, the whole floor flooded. They simply have nowhere to spend the night.”
“Oleg…”
“What were they supposed to do, sleep outside? It’s Friday evening already. Where could they go?”
Nastya walked into Yulia’s room. The girls had settled in as if they were at home — their things were laid out, makeup on the table, Yulia’s blanket around one of them. Yulia herself was sitting in the living room on the sofa, a textbook on her lap.
“Hi, Aunt Nastya!” Vitalina smiled. “Sorry it turned out this way. We were in shock when we saw the water. The whole room flooded.”
“It was just awful,” Svetlana nodded. “We grabbed the most necessary things and came here.”
Nastya returned to the kitchen, where Oleg was pretending to cook dinner.
“Oleg, come here.”
He followed her into the bedroom. Nastya closed the door.
“Until Sunday. They leave on Sunday.”
“Nastya, how can they—”
“Until Sunday, Oleg. The whole weekend, and not a day more. Let them look for another option.”
“All right,” he nodded, but relief was visible in his eyes. So he had been prepared for something worse.
Yulka was silent that evening. Only before bed did she ask:
“Mom, I really don’t mind. They really were in trouble.”
“Sunshine, it won’t be for long. Two days, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” her daughter said, turning toward the wall.
Nastya lay down beside Oleg. He immediately moved to the edge of the bed and demonstratively turned his back to her. She lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to Vitalina and Svetlana giggling and discussing something behind the wall. She only fell asleep toward morning.
Saturday began at eight in the morning. Loud music from the kitchen, laughter, voices. Nastya opened her eyes — Oleg wasn’t beside her. She got up, threw on a robe, and went out.
In the kitchen, Vitalina, Svetlana, and Oleg were drinking coffee. There were sandwiches on the table, along with Nastya’s favorite syrniki, which she had made the day before for breakfast. A phone on the windowsill was playing some pop song.
“Good morning!” Vitalina waved. “Aunt Nastya, everything here is so tasty!”
“Morning. Could you turn the music down? People are sleeping.”
“It’s not even loud,” Svetlana said, tapping the phone screen but lowering the volume only slightly.
Oleg looked at Nastya.
“Want coffee?”
“I’ll pour it myself.”
She took a mug and poured coffee from the cezve Oleg had just brewed. She sat down at the table. Vitalina and Svetlana were discussing some guy from their institute, interrupting each other and laughing. Oleg smiled and chimed in.
“Girls, what are your plans for the day?” Nastya asked.
“We’ll just stay here and rest,” Vitalina shrugged. “After that whole nightmare at the dorm, we just want to relax.”
“Maybe you could go for a walk? The weather’s nice.”
“It’s cold,” Svetlana grimaced. “Minus fifteen.”
Nastya finished her coffee and stood up. It promised to be a long day.
The girls weren’t lying — they really did stay home. They occupied the bathroom for an hour and a half, one after the other. Nastya waited to wash up and knocked on the door, but they only called out cheerfully:
“Five more minutes!”
Then it turned out they had eaten all the sausage Nastya had bought for the week. They had used her mascara — and Yulia’s makeup, which her daughter had recently begged for as a birthday present.
“Yul, sorry, we thought it was communal,” Vitalina shrugged.
By evening, Nastya felt like a squeezed lemon. Oleg noticed, but said nothing. When the girls went into the room, she tried to talk to him.
“Oleg, do you see what’s happening?”
“What’s happening? They’re young, a little noisy, but nothing special.”
“They’re acting like they own the place.”
“Nastya, don’t exaggerate. It’s only two days.”
“Exactly. Two days. They leave on Sunday.”
“All right, all right.”
But there was no confidence in his voice.
On Sunday evening, Nastya came back from the store — she had deliberately left for an hour to give Oleg time to gather the girls and send them on their way. She entered the apartment — the bags were still in the same places. Vitalina and Svetlana were sitting in the living room watching a series on Nastya’s laptop.
“Girls, aren’t you leaving?”
“Aunt Nastya, Uncle Oleg said we could stay a couple more days,” Vitalina said, not even looking away from the screen. “The pipe still hasn’t been fixed.”
Nastya went into the kitchen. Oleg was sitting at the table, reading something on his phone.
“Oleg.”
“Hm?”
“Why haven’t they left?”
“Nastya, the pipe really hasn’t been fixed. I called the dorm, and they said it’ll take another three or four days.”
“Oleg, we had an agreement. Until Sunday.”
“I understand, but where are they supposed to go? Out on the street?”
“Let them rent a room, go to a hotel, or go to your mother’s, for all I care!”
“To my mother’s? She has a two-room apartment. She can barely fit there herself.”
“And we have a three-room apartment, but the four of us are cramped too!”
“Nastya, don’t shout.”
“I’m not shouting!”
But she was shouting. Yulia peered out of her room — she was back there now, while the girls had temporarily moved to the living room — and looked frightened.
Nastya fell silent, turned around, and went into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and covered her face with her hands. The phone rang — Inna Pavlovna.
She didn’t answer. A minute later, a message arrived: “Nastya, I heard you’re throwing the girls out. Aren’t you ashamed?”
How did she know? Had Oleg called her? Or Vitalina and Svetlana?
A second message followed: “Their exams are coming up. They need proper conditions. And you only think about yourself.”
Nastya threw the phone onto the bed. She went into the hallway and pulled on her coat.
“Where are you going?” Oleg asked.
“For a walk.”
“It’s dark and cold outside.”
“Then I’ll walk in the dark and cold.”
She left and took the elevator down. It really was freezing outside; the wind stung her face. Nastya walked to the nearest bench and sat down, even though the snow probably hadn’t been cleared from it in a week.
Her phone rang again — Lena.
“Hi. How are things?”
Nastya told her. Lena listened in silence, then said:
“Listen, I think this isn’t random. Remember what I said about registration?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. They won’t leave. They’ll drag it out, and then Oleg will say, ‘Let’s register them, it’ll be easier for them.’ And if you refuse, you’ll be the guilty one.”
“Oh, come on, why would they need registration…”
“Nastya, wake up. City registration means a chance at a better dorm, a stipend, a whole bunch of benefits. Why do you think they latched onto you specifically?”
Nastya was silent. The wind whipped her hair, and snow got into her boots.
“Go to the passport office,” Lena advised. “Find out whether anyone can be registered without your consent. The apartment belongs solely to you, right?”
“Yes. I bought it before the marriage.”
“There. Protect yourself. You never know.”
Nastya thanked her and hung up. She sat for another ten minutes, froze completely, and went back home.
The apartment was quiet. Oleg was already lying in bed, turned toward the wall. Nastya undressed and lay down, but she couldn’t sleep. Thoughts spun in her head like a hamster wheel.
Monday. Nastya got up early and got ready quietly so she wouldn’t wake anyone. Before work, she went to the passport office — in their district, it opened at eight.
The young woman behind the window looked at the documents.
“The apartment is solely owned by you and was purchased before marriage. Someone can be registered there only with your written consent.”
“And if someone tries without my consent?”
“It won’t work. Your signature is required, notarized.”
Nastya exhaled with relief. But the woman added:
“Although two girls came in yesterday asking about the registration procedure. They said they were relatives of the owner of an apartment at 12 Sadovaya Street. That’s your building, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nastya said, feeling a chill inside. “What did they say?”
“They asked what documents were needed and how long it would take. I explained that the owner’s consent was required.”
“Thank you.”
Nastya went outside. So Lena had been right. They really had been planning registration. And they had surely thought Nastya would eventually agree — that she would get tired of the pressure, the scandals, and Inna Pavlovna.
At work, she couldn’t concentrate. At lunch, she called Oleg.
“We need to talk. Seriously.”
“About what?”
“The girls. Tonight, when I get home.”
“All right,” he said and hung up.
For the rest of the day, Nastya replayed the upcoming conversation in her head. What would she say? How?
She came home at six. Vitalina and Svetlana were sitting in the kitchen, and so was Oleg. Yulia was in her room with headphones on, pretending to listen to music.
“Oleg, let’s go to the bedroom,” Nastya said, walking past everyone without even saying hello.
He followed her. He closed the door.
“What happened?”
“Tell me honestly. Were you planning to register them here?”
He froze. His face became guilty and confused.
“Nastya…”
“Oleg. Yes or no?”
“Mom said it would be good if they got city registration. It really would make things easier for them.”
“And you agreed?”
“I said I’d talk to you.”
“When? After they’d lived here for six months and I got tired of fighting them?”
“No! I just… I thought maybe you would suggest it yourself. You can see how hard it is for them…”
“Oleg, this is my apartment. Mine. I bought it with my father’s money before our marriage. And I have the right to decide who gets registered here.”
“I know,” he lowered his eyes. “But they’re relatives…”
“Cousins. Whom you had seen, at most, once every five years before this year.”
“Nastya, what does that have to do with anything? Uncle Vova asked…”
“And Uncle Vova asked because your mother told him we had a big apartment and that we would help!”
Oleg was silent. Nastya took out her phone, found Vladimir Khlopov’s number, and turned on speakerphone. Oleg tried to stop her.
“Nastya, don’t…”
“I will.”
Vladimir answered after the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Vladimir. This is Nastya, Oleg’s wife.”
“Ah, Nastya, hi. Did something happen?”
“Tell me honestly. Did you ask for the girls to be registered in our apartment?”
A pause. Then a heavy sigh.
“Nastya, I’m not a rich man. They need city registration — it’s easier with scholarships and later with work. Inna Pavlovna said you wouldn’t mind helping.”
“Inna Pavlovna was mistaken. I do mind.”
“I understand,” his voice turned cold. “Well then. The girls will manage somehow.”
He hung up. Nastya looked at Oleg.
“Do you understand now? This was all planned. First they complained about the dorm, then a pipe just happened to burst, then they settled in here, and next came registration. And you were an accomplice in all of it.”
“I wanted to do what was best…”
“For whom? For your relatives? Did you think about us? About Yulia, sitting there in headphones because she’s afraid to hear us arguing?”
Oleg sat down on the bed and lowered his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“I need to think,” Nastya said, picking up her bag. “I’m going to Lena’s. I’ll spend the night there.”
“Please don’t leave.”
“I need time.”
She walked out of the bedroom. Vitalina and Svetlana were standing in the hallway, guilty looks on their faces. So they had heard.
“Aunt Nastya, we didn’t mean…”
“Pack your things,” Nastya said. “You’re leaving tomorrow morning. Find a room, a hotel, whatever, but you’re leaving this place.”
“But…”
“No arguments.”
Nastya left the apartment and caught a taxi. Lena opened the door as soon as Nastya rang.
“Come in. Tea? Coffee?”
“Nothing. Can I just sit?”
“Of course.”
They sat in the kitchen. Lena was silent, giving Nastya time to come back to herself. Then she asked:
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Nastya said, rubbing her face with her hands. “On one hand, he’s my husband. On the other — he betrayed me.”
“He didn’t betray you. He gave in to his mother’s pressure. That’s different.”
“Lena, he was planning to register them behind my back!”
“Was he planning it? Or was his mother planning it, while he was just drifting with the current?”
Nastya thought about it. Maybe Lena was right. Oleg had never been the initiator in their relationship. He was a good father, a decent husband, but weak. His mother had always pressured him, and he didn’t know how to resist.
“What should I do?”
“Protect your territory. The apartment is yours. Your daughter is yours. Decisions about who lives there are yours too. Oleg will either accept that or he won’t.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you have bigger problems than a couple of cousins.”
Nastya spent the night on Lena’s sofa. In the morning, before work, she called Oleg.
“Have the girls left?”
“Yes. Nastya, please come back. We need to talk.”
“Tonight.”
That evening, Nastya came home. Oleg wasn’t there — there was a note on the kitchen table: “I went to my mother’s. I’ll think about what you said. Yulia is at neighbor Tamara Grigoryevna’s.”
Nastya crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash. She sat down on the living room sofa and looked around. Silence. No strange voices, no music, no bathrobes on the rack. The apartment was theirs again. Only Oleg was gone.
She called Tamara Grigoryevna.
“Good evening. May I speak to Yulia?”
“Of course, Nastenka. We’ve been making pancakes together. She’s such a good girl.”
Five minutes later, her daughter came in cautiously, as if entering someone else’s apartment.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sunshine. Sit down, let’s talk.”
Yulia sat beside her, tucking her legs under herself.
“Dad left?”
“Yes. To Grandma Inna’s.”
“For long?”
“I don’t know,” Nastya said, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Yul, are you angry with me?”
“No. I just… I don’t understand why we couldn’t let them stay. At least until the end of winter.”
“Because this is our home. Yours, mine, and Dad’s. And no one has the right to dictate to us whom we must accept here. Do you understand?”
Yulia nodded, but uncertainly.
“And if Dad doesn’t come back?”
“Then that will be his choice. But I did everything I could.”
Three days passed. Oleg didn’t call or write. Inna Pavlovna was silent too. Nastya went to work, came home, cooked dinner with Yulia, checked her homework. Everything was as usual, except Oleg wasn’t there.
On Thursday evening, while she and Yulia were watching some movie, the doorbell rang. Nastya opened the door — Oleg stood there. No bags, only his jacket.
“May I come in?”
“This is your home.”
He stepped into the hallway and took off his coat. Yulia peered out of the living room.
“Dad!”
“Hi, sunshine. Go finish the movie. Mom and I need to talk.”
Yulia obediently went back to the sofa. Oleg walked into the kitchen, and Nastya followed him. He sat down at the table; she sat across from him.
“I went to Sergey,” he began. “My boss. I told him everything.”
“And what did he say?”
“That I acted like a weakling. That you can’t let relatives interfere in your family. He had a similar story himself — his wife defended their apartment from his mother and three sisters. He was offended back then and left, but later he realized she had been right.”
Nastya said nothing and waited.
“Nastya, forgive me. I really didn’t think Mom had arranged everything like that. I thought, well, the girls would come, stay a little, then leave. But it turned out to be a whole plan.”
“With registration.”
“Yes. Mom told me everything yesterday. She said you were greedy, that it wouldn’t hurt you to help your own people. I told her that you are my closest person. You and Yulka.”
Nastya felt warmth spread through her chest, but she didn’t show it.
“Oleg, I’m not against helping your relatives. But not at the expense of our family. Not at the expense of Yulia and her room. Not at the expense of our peace.”
“I understand. That’s why I went to Uncle Vova. To the village. I brought him money — enough for the girls to rent a room for three months. I told him we wouldn’t help anymore after that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. And I told Mom that if she ever tries to pull something like that again, I’ll stop communicating with her altogether.”
“How did she take it?”
“She got offended. Said I was an ungrateful son. But I stood my ground. Nastya, I want to come home. If you’ll allow it.”
Nastya stood up, went over to him, and put her hand on his shoulder.
“This is your home, Oleg. Our home. Just remember once and for all — there are three people living here. You, me, and Yulia. No one else.”
“I remember,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his forehead to her stomach. “Forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
Yulia appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Dad, are you staying?”
“I’m staying, sunshine.”
“Hooray!” she ran over and hugged them both.
They stood like that for a while — a family. A real family that had survived a test.
A month later, Vitalina called. Her voice was embarrassed.
“Aunt Nastya, hello. I wanted to apologize. We really didn’t understand that it would turn out like that.”
“It’s all right, Vitalina. How are you doing?”
“Fine. We rented a room together, and it turned out cheap. Dad helped a little, and Uncle Oleg too. We’re studying and working part-time.”
“Good for you. Call if anything happens — but honestly, all right?”
“All right. Thank you for not being angry.”
After that conversation, Nastya felt that the story had truly ended. Inna Pavlovna never called — apparently, she was still sulking. But Oleg visited her once a week, brought groceries, and helped around the house. Just without Nastya, and without making claims against their family.
One evening, when the three of them were sitting in the kitchen — Oleg reading something on his phone, Yulia drawing, Nastya looking out the window — her daughter suddenly said:
“You know, I like that there are only three of us. It’s right.”
Oleg looked up from his phone and glanced at Nastya. She smiled.
“Yes, Yul. It’s right.”
Oleg reached across the table, and Nastya placed her hand in his. Yulia put her small hand on top.
Three hands, three people, one family.
Outside the window, snow was falling. January was slowly coming to an end, and in the apartment at 12 Sadovaya Street, it was warm and peaceful.
Their fortress had held.
